


RDR2 Prompts

by raewrite



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Other, it's really a little bit of everything they're all unconnected prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewrite/pseuds/raewrite
Summary: Several prompts given to me on Tumblr, mostly for Arthur Morgan right now.





	1. Roadside

Camping on the roadside was something that you and Arthur had vastly different experiences with.

To Arthur, spending time away from the gang’s camp was usually a welcomed change of pace. There was something satisfying about building his own fire and pitching his tent and just _idling_ for a little while as the sun turned overhead. Life in camp was a community affair, and as much as Arthur liked his little space nestled against one of the wagons, getting away from everyone’s noise for a couple nights made him just as content.

You, on the other hand, were restless, much to Arthur’s annoyance. To you, camp was secure; it was anchored and it was _sound_. Living in a tent on the side of the road made you feel vulnerable, made you feel _watched._ You never understood how Arthur could just fall asleep with no one watching out for him but his horse.

As evening approached, you sat fidgeting by the fire, casting glances down to the road and trying to distract yourself from your own fretfulness by going over your plan again with Arthur, who lounged against a rock with journal in hand and gun by his side. Your makeshift home-away-from-home was perched on a rocky outcropping that rose above the road just enough to keep you out of sight.

Dutch had sent the two of you out to catch a stagecoach headed through Valentine towards Saint Denis. You had caught wind of the small fortune it likely held, as it belonged to a particularly successful landowner coming from some business in Blackwater. According to your sources, the coach was meant to leave from Valentine in the morning and pass through the plains by the main road, right past where you and Arthur laid in wait.

The job itself was hardly worth your worry, for you and Arthur both had robbed stagecoaches plenty of times, and you worked well together. No, it was the waiting that drove you stir-crazy. You wanted to _move_. You alternated between pacing back and forth slowly while reading over some notes you had jotted down and sitting on your bedroll, nervously tapping your knee and listening to the fire pop and crackle.

Meanwhile, Arthur sat calmly, listening to your muttering and flipping through his journal. He had just finished writing out his stray thoughts about the robbery, and was absently sketching your horse that stood hitched nearby. Arthur knew well enough that you had your reasons for fretting — it _was_ wild country — but you were starting to make _him_ anxious and your pacing was fixing to drive him over the cliff.

“Y/n, can you stay still for just twenty minutes?” he finally said, setting his journal down in his lap. You looked up from your notes as if you hadn’t even realized what you were doing, before glancing down at your feet. It was almost comical, and Arthur was having a hard time not breaking the stern expression he had donned.

“Sorry,” was all you mumbled as you plopped back down by the fire, your gaze returning quickly to the scrap of paper in your hands. Arthur eyed you expectantly for a moment, returning to his journal once he was sure you had settled. Every few minutes he would glance up again, though you never seemed to notice, and he smirked.

Not long after the sun had gone down, you let your papers fall into your lap with a loud sigh. You had finally decided that you were as ready as you were going to be, and all that there was left to do now was wait and watch. You feared it was going to be a long night.

Your gaze wandered across the fire to the man sitting next to you. Arthur had one knee drawn up to prop up his journal, and you watched curiously as his brows knit over whatever he was scribbling onto the page. You craned your neck, trying to be discrete as you moved to catch a glimpse of what he was drawing.

“I ain’t drawin’ you, if thats what yer wondering,” he stated, deadpan, not even looking up from the page. You sat back, huffing out a little laugh.

“I can’t help that I’m curious,” you said imploringly. Arthur hummed and continued to sketch. It wasn’t until your attention had wandered elsewhere that he glanced up at you once more. The firelight caught in your eyes as you kept vigil, and the dancing shadows over your face made your features difficult to capture, but at least you had stopped moving so much.

The moon was high overhead by the time you had decided to get some rest, and you sleepily murmured your goodnight to Arthur as you curled into your bedroll.

“G’night,’ he muttered. He waited until he was sure you were asleep before placing his journal down in his lap and letting the dying firelight flicker over it. It wasn’t a perfect likeness by any means, not for the amount of time he had spent on it, but he supposed that meant you would just have to go camping together again sometime.

Arthur smiled at the thought, and settled in to keep watch until morning.


	2. Tell Your Story

It had been a year since the gang had split up for good, and you had never stopped running.

Arthur’s passing had been your undoing, and even after you and Charles had buried him and went your separate ways, you couldn’t bring yourself to settle down. Of course, Charles had offered you a place with him until you could find a home for yourself, but you declined, confessing to him that the idea of staying in one place just didn’t appeal to you anymore, not when the person you would have shared that life with was gone and dead. 

You drifted for a few months after that, returning to the old campsites to pick up what was left behind. You had found an old, worn book at the Shady Belle house; one that Hosea had leant to Lenny at one time and that they had both loved. When you passed through Saint Denis, you laid it between their graves. One of Mary-Beth’s hairpins had been left in the sand at Clemens Point, and you tucked it away in your bag for safe keeping, as well as a domino from Tilly’s set. 

A year or so down the line, you ran into Sadie, and it felt like you had never been apart. You talked for hours about _everything_ as the two of you sat at a lonely table in the back of a rundown saloon. She told you about her bounty hunting and how she had been keeping an ear out for any news about Micah. You tried to give her an appreciative smile, but she didn’t miss the way your face fell at the mention of his name. She dropped the subject in favor of asking what you had been up to. 

You told her about your wanderings and the odd jobs you had picked up here and there, and she gave you a sad smile, but she said nothing. That night, you split the cost of a room. It was the first time in over a year that you had been able to sleep soundly until morning. 

When you split off from Sadie, you went through Rhodes and up to Horseshoe Overlook, though you couldn’t stay for more than one evening. The memories tied to the place were far too overwhelming, and you left before sunrise. 

You ended up in Valentine, where you found another familiar face. You had been doing some trading in the general store when the front door opened and a familiar voice rang out.

“Y/n, is that you?” It was Mary-Beth, you knew it before you could even turn around. You stared for the briefest of moments before rushing to her and enveloping her in a hug, which she returned with delight. “Oh, _how are you_? _Where have you been_?” she asked excitedly, taking your face in her hands.

“ _I’m fine_ , I’m fine. I guess I’ve just been wanderin’, pickin’ up work where I can,” you laughed as she inspected you. She instinctively brushed away a bit of dirt on the shoulder of your coat, smiling giddily. “What about _you_? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Oh, I’ve been _writin’!_ You know, all those stories I used to think of? Well now they’re _published_. Can you believe it?” Mary-Beth beamed at you, and you smiled back, genuinely. “So much has happened since I saw you last, feels like a lifetime.” 

“That it has,” you sighed, but you couldn’t push the smile from your face. Mary-Beth held out her hand to you.

“Well, c’mon! We’ve got catchin’ up to do,” she chimed. You quickly paid for your provisions and followed her across the street. “I’ve been staying at the hotel, but I’ve been thinkin’ about moving on soon. Somewhere more lively, you know?” You hummed.

Mary-Beth led you up to her room and sat you down on the edge of the bed. She opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a small box of chocolates, offering it to you. “Oh, Mary-Beth, now who gave you these,” you inquired, raising your eyebrows as you took a piece and popped it in your mouth, nodding gratefully. 

She huffed out a laugh, taking one for herself. “Just some boy here in town. He works for the owner of the hotel, and I see him a lot. He’s sweet, sure, but not for me.” You nodded and smiled as she shook her head. “But enough about me, what about you, Y/n? Surely you’ve been up to more than just _wanderin’_.” 

You looked down at the floor then, not entirely sure what to tell her. “I don’t know. Jus’ been… movin’ around a lot, I guess. Can’t seem to settle.” You thought for a moment. “I went to some of the old camps, just to see ‘em. Went to see Hosea and Lenny.” Out of the corner of your eye you saw Mary-Beth’s shoulders fall forward a bit, and you immediately regretted bringing up the old gang members. You felt suddenly _intrusive._ She had moved on by now, and it didn’t feel right to recall the memories of your past lives. You struggled to recover. 

“Oh, but I did find this!” you said quickly, trying to lift your tone. You reached into your bag and pulled out the silver hair pin you had found, holding it out. 

Mary-Beth gasped, picking up the little ornament delicately and turning it over in her hands. “Oh, _Y/n_ , you…” she stopped short. For a brief moment you weren’t sure if you had made the situation better or worse, but then Mary-Beth threw her arms out and wrapped you in a hug, scooting closer and pulling you to her. You returned the embrace without hesitation, shutting your eyes tight as you tried to quell the stirring sensation in your chest. 

“I do think about you all often,” she said, pulling away and taking one of your hands in her own. Her eyes were downcast, but you could see blotches of red forming on her cheeks. You rubbed your thumb over the back of her hand gently. “I think about the good times, I mean. Back before… before that whole mess.” She waved her free hand dismissively, sniffling as she did so. She turned to look you in the eye, and you could see the gathering tears. You pulled your handkerchief from your coat and handed it to her, making her laugh a little. 

“I think about it, too,” you said quietly. “You all were family to me…” You wanted to say more, but you felt your own throat tightening. 

Mary-Beth wiped at her eyes, looking as though she were considering her next words. “Did you… you and Arthur, did…” she floundered, not sure how to approach the question.

You gave her a sad smile. “Arthur’s gone,” you said, though you hated the finality of it. You were both quiet for a moment. “He’s gone, and I miss him dearly. Every single day.” You could feel your own tears welling up now, and you averted your eyes.

Mary-Beth’s hand moved up your arm, and she pushed away a few stray hairs that had fallen into your face. She let you have a moment to gather yourself again.

“He wouldn’t want you livin’ like this, Y/n,” she said, her voice gentle. You closed your eyes, bowing your head. “I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, but…” She paused, watching your expression. “I think its time you moved on. Live the life _he_ couldn’t, the one he would have wanted to give you.” 

You rubbed at your eyes, but said nothing. You didn’t know _what_ to say, but you knew she was right. She reached up to wipe away a stray tear. 

“I just don’t know what to do with myself, Mary-Beth,” you said hoarsely after a few beats of silence. She gave you a look of understanding, rubbing your arm thoughtfully. Then she straightened up suddenly, as though she had been struck by something. She stood and went over to her desk, pulling open the drawer and reaching inside. She pulled out what looked like a little hardback book, returning to you and holding it out for you to take.

The pages on the inside were entirely blank, and you looked to Mary-Beth for an explanation. “Its a journal. I keep a few spare ones for when I think of something new to write.” You inspected the cover, running your fingers carefully over the pressed leatherwork. “I want you to have it. Write your story, Y/n. When I first settled out here, I didn’t know what to do with myself either, so I just started writin’. I got a whole book filled with stories from back then. It made me feel better, gettin’ them onto the page, I guess.” She watched as you turned the crisp pages. “Maybe it can help you feel better, too.”

You closed the book once more, letting it rest in your lap, and you kept your eyes down, no longer trying to hold back your tears. Mary-Beth laid her hand on top of yours. 

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, I… I don’t know what… I’m sorry, I’m—“ she cut you off by pulling you once more into an embrace, letting her hand rest at the back of your head as you let out a shaky breath. 

“It’s alright, Y/n. It’s gonna be alright.”

The two of you stayed like that a while longer, talking quietly into the evening. 

The next day, you booked your own room at the hotel, right next to Mary-Beth’s. You sat down at the desk by the window, looking out over the main street through town. You thought about the night Arthur came back to camp caked with mud after his unfortunate encounter at the saloon, and you smiled slightly at the memory.

You looked down at the little book before you, turned to the first clean page. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slow, you grabbed the pen Mary-Beth had let you borrow and set to work. 


	3. Coffee Well-Earned

It was another misty morning in the overlook camp, and the sun had yet to burn off the early fog in the valley below.

You had risen early as usual and grabbed breakfast from Pearson before going about your chores. A few of the boys were off on a job that Javier and John had picked up on while in Valentine, leaving you and the remaining gang members to watch over the camp in their absence. On one hand, that meant that the mornings were quieter, with only Pearson’s whistling and the soft chatter from Tilly and Mary-Beth disturbing the silence of dawn. On the other, it meant you were short-handed, and everyone, yourself included, found themselves taking on extra work around the site. 

Trudging over to Pearson’s wagon to grab the chicken feed, you caught sight of Arthur across the way, going to pick up the axe. You watched for a moment as you filled the canvas sack with feed. He placed down the first log for splitting and hefted the axe over his shoulder, bringing it down in one fluid motion and letting the wood halves fall to the sides. When he glanced up, his eyes met yours and you gave a little wave, suddenly conscious that you had been staring. To your relief, he raised his own hand and shot you a little half smile as he leaned down to grab the next log. 

You quickly turned on your heel and returned to the task at hand, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your chest. Once you had the chickens well fed, you set off to tend to the horses. You had taken a particular liking to the small herd the gang had, and you didn’t really mind keeping them fed and groomed. Each of the horses had their own personalities that you had made note of, and you took pride in being able to handle even the most stubborn of the lot.

Exchanging ‘good mornings’ with Tilly and Susan, you went around the side of their wagon to grab a brush and a handful of oat cakes. Your own mare snorted as you reached up to pat her nose, sniffing at the little package you had set down by your feet.

“ _Noo_ , no. You know the rule, missy. No treats until you’ve been brushed,” you scolded, patting her neck and slipping the brush over your hand. You used your foot to scoot the oat cakes out of her reach. 

Finding your rhythm in running the brush down your horse’s side, you glanced around the camp to see who all was up and about. Over at one of the tables you could see Hosea flipping leisurely through one of his books, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Susan was talking with Pearson as he worked, while Mary-Beth and Tilly were pinning up the laundry to dry in the morning breeze. 

You let the gentle hum of the camp carry you as you went from horse to horse, carefully dusting them down and rewarding them for their good behavior. When you were finished with the brushing, you went about the feeding, knowing full and well that a couple of oat cakes wouldn’t have spoiled the horses’ breakfasts, not by a long shot. 

Going back around the side of the supply wagon, you rolled up your sleeves and mustered your strength to pick up the first bale of hay. With a grunt, you heaved the first bale up into your arms, stumbling back a step as you adjusted the weight in your arms. It wasn’t that the bales themselves were _too terribly_ heavy, more they were just awkward and _bulky_ , and your frame made it difficult to balance them. You had watched with something akin to envy as Arthur and Charles could throw the things around without issue, and you prayed no one was watching as you did your best to imitate them. 

Of course, your prayers went unanswered. 

“You want some help there, Y/n?” It was Arthur. _Hell_.

He came stepping up beside you just as you turned to set the hay out at the edge of the clearing. “I think I got this one. But how about you grab the next bale and set it out over that way,” you said over your shoulder, cocking your head in the direction of the other horses across the way. He gave a little salute and knelt down to pick up a fresh bale. By the time you had hauled yours over to its place by the rocks, you saw that Arthur had already made it across camp and was setting down his bale without strain. 

“ _Showoff_ ,” you huffed as you met him back by the wagon, though you couldn’t keep the note of playfulness from your tone. He smirked at you as he went to pick up another bale. 

“Oh, hush. I’m just doin’ my share, same as you.” You rolled your eyes.

Together you finished setting out the hay, and Arthur moved on to grab a sack of grain for Pearson, asking you to fetch the pale of water nearby to fill the wash basin. When you had dropped those off on the opposite side of camp, the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as Pearson set the pot over the fire for that evening’s stew. Susan came briskly up from behind you, holding out two fresh mugs of coffee, which you and Arthur both took appreciatively. 

“Thanks for your help,” you finally said, bringing your mug up to your lips. “Maybe you _were_ a farm boy in another life.”

Arthur snorted beside you. “I don’t know about that, darlin’.” 

You glanced up at him then, taking in the way the morning sun glinted in his eyes when he lifted the brim of his hat. One hand held his coffee level with his chest, while the other rested at his belt. He looked relaxed. You could almost say he looked _happy_.

You smiled a bit at the thought, and looked back down at the fire, giving him a nudge in the arm with your elbow. 

“I think we’re gonna be alright,” you said softly after another sip of coffee. You heard Arthur hum beside you. 

His gaze wandered over the camp before landing on you, and he felt something like _content_ settle in his chest as he watched you sway absently.

“I think you may be right.”


	4. West, Maybe

You woke to the deep rolling of thunder and the patter of rain on the roof of the Shady Belle house. The morning was dark and dreary, and a chill had settled into the walls of the house over night, making you curl closer to the body next to you on instinct. Faintly, you could smell woodsmoke, but the morning rain drowned out any noise being made by your fellow gang members. You tried to let the storm lull you back to sleep, not yet ready to face the day, but you felt Arthur stir next to you.

He yawned and shifted to stretch out a bit, which you took as an opportunity to tuck your head up under his chin and huddle against his chest, your hands balling into his shirt. He pulled you closer to himself, his hand rubbing absent-minded circles between your shoulder blades, and you felt him breathe in slow and deep.

All was calm as the rain tapped gently at the old foggy windows, and you felt content as you began to doze off once more. Arthur had half a mind to just let you stay like that; warm and happy with him, with four walls and a roof overhead. If he tried, he could almost imagine waking up like this everyday. It was a thought he’d been having more and more often as of late, though he didn’t dare try and get his hopes up by entertaining it.

You were both quiet for a little while, neither of you wanting to spoil the blessed moment of peace. Arthur was about to drop back off to sleep himself when he felt you begin to roll over in his arms, groaning as you did so.

“We ought to get up before someone comes lookin’ for us,” you sigh, resting your forearm over your eyes. Arthur takes the moment to hum and press a kiss to the side of your head, before rolling to sit up.

“Another day.” He heaves himself off your shared cot and goes about getting dressed. You sit yourself up and perch on the side of the bed, rubbing the last bits of sleep from your eyes and looking as though you were still trying to convince yourself to get up.

Arthur was pulling his suspenders over his shoulders when he noticed you staring out the window absently. Usually you were more verbose once you had woken up a bit, pulling on your work shirt and trousers alongside him, but this morning you seemed miles away in your nightclothes and bare feet. Arthur tried to read your expression as he pulled his belt through the loops of his pants.

“You ever think about doin’ something else?” It’s a question he’s not expecting, and his hands pause over his belt buckle. When he looks up, your gaze is still at the window, though you don’t _really_ seem to be watching the storm outside.

“Well, sure, sometimes.” He sits down next to you and grabs his boots. You don’t say anything, and he feels as though he hasn’t given you enough of an answer to work with. “Sometimes I think about settlin’ down. Why?”

You lose whatever interest you had in the windowpanes, and look to the floorboards between yourself and Arthur. He tugs his boots up over his pant legs and straightens up at your repose, watching your eyes.

“I was just wonderin’.” You’re considering your words, as though you could misstep if you didn’t choose correctly. “I’m just… I’m just startin’ to wonder about this whole _plan_ Dutch has got going. I don’t think I really wanna go to _Tahiti_ , or where ever the hell he’s got us workin’ towards.” Arthur huffs out a little laugh at your sudden confession, but he quickly realizes the earnestness of your words when he sees the way you’re now looking at him. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but you almost look _distraught_ as you lock eyes with him.

He tries to think for a moment. “Well, where _do_ you wanna go?” It’s a simple question, and it’s the exact one you weren’t sure you could answer. Not by yourself, anyway.

The Van der Linde gang had been your entire life for years, but now you weren’t so sure if your allegiance belonged to Dutch himself, or to the members of the gang that you actually considered as family. Dutch was _fine_ , but he was _distant;_ inaccessible, it felt like. No, it was folks like Hosea and Charles, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Abigail, Lenny, _Arthur_. They were like _real_ family. Their names weighed on you as you struggled to give an answer.

“West, maybe? I don’t…” You sigh heavily, letting your shoulders fall forward. “I don’t know.” You feel stupid for even bringing it up now.

“West sounds fine to me.”

Arthur’s reply catches you off guard, and you look to him, like you’re waiting for him to say something more. He catches on.

“I mean, if you’d have me, of course.” He offers you his hand.

“Arthur Morgan…” You stall and your words fail you. Part of you wanted desperately to just up and run. To run away from this hole Dutch was digging and bring everyone he would ruin with you, Arthur included, but you had always figured Arthur would be the last to abandon your gang’s leader. So you had kept your mouth shut.

But now loyalties were shifting. Arthur’s reply was proof enough of that.

Carefully, you take the hand he’s offered you. “I can’t ask you to leave all this behind,” you finally state, not daring to meet his gaze. You feel his hand squeeze yours reassuringly.

“Darlin’, _all this_ don’t mean a thing if all we ever do is keep on runnin’.” He leans forward to catch your eye, trying to draw you out from your distress. “Look, we don’t have to decide anything now. Just know I’ve been thinkin’ about it all, too.”

You smile then, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “ _Alright_ ,” you whisper.

It’s enough for Arthur, and he puts an arm around your shoulders. “Alright.”

He gives you a moment to gather yourself before getting up to grab his hat from the bedside table. “Y’know, I always did wonder what it would be like runnin’ a ranch of my own,” he added, his tone lifting.

You laugh then, quiet as it is, deciding to let him coax you from your brooding. “You’d be bankrupt before the week was out.”

“Not if I had you with me, I wouldn’t,” he fires back, and you smile, genuinely this time.

Arthur reaches out to help you up from your seat on the bed, drawing you into a proper hug once you’re on your feet. He plants a firm kiss atop your head before pulling back to look you in the eyes.

“We’re gonna be alright, you hear me?”

You stand on your toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, adjusting his hat for him as you lean away again.

“I hear you.”

“Alright then.”


	5. Supply Run

It was just supposed to be a supply run into town. Simple as that.

You hadn’t been prepared for a full on shoot-out on the outskirts of Valentine, but apparently the O’Driscolls had been looking for a fight, and now you and Mary-Beth sat hunkered down in the back of the wagon, throwing shots over the side whenever there was a lull in the gunfire.

“ _What are we gonna do? They’ve got us pinned_ ,” Mary-Beth called over the din. You both flinched as a bullet sent splinters of the wagon flying between you.

You looked around frantically as Mary-Beth peeked her head up over the side panel to take a couple more shots. The supplies you had bought in town were hardly useful for a fight. It was mostly foodstuffs and medicine, as well as one crate of ammunition. Fragments of plans flashed through your mind as you desperately tried to think of _something._

_“Y/N!”_

Then you saw it. The watermelons Pearson had asked you to get. The gears in your head began to turn rapidly.

“Mary-Beth, get down. Under that tarp there,” you pointed towards the front of the wagon where the larger crates had been stacked. “Get down and stay down. I’ve got an idea.”

She looked to you inquisitively, but did as she was told, moving carefully over the boxes so that her head stayed below the side paneling of the wagon. You could hear the shouts of the O’Driscolls taunting you as they moved closer.

You grabbed one of the watermelons from their burlap sack and took your hat from your head, balancing it atop the melon in your arms.

“ _What the hell are you doin’?_ ” Mary-Beth hissed from her place between the crates. She held her revolver over her chest as she pulled the tarp up.

“Something very, _very_ stupid,” you said as you hefted the watermelon up. “But it might work.” You stopped to make eye contact with her. “Listen, when I jump, I need you to stay right there, alright? Don’t move until you’re sure they’re gone.” You raised your eyebrows and gave Mary-Beth a little nod, prompting her to accept your instructions.

She looked at you like you were crazy. Good enough.

Making sure your hat was straight on your improvised decoy, you lifted the watermelon up so that it was just visible over the side of the wagon. Just as you had hoped, the watermelon exploded in your hands as a bullet ripped violently through it. You winced as a bright red mist splattered over the back of the wagon and pulled your hands down quickly, taking your hunting knife from your belt.

“ _SHIT_ ,” you shouted suddenly, throwing a wink towards Mary-Beth as she watched you in surprise and horror. You could hear the celebratory calls from whichever O’Driscoll had hit his mark. You took your chance to vault over the opposite side of the wagon and scurry up to the horses. The one facing the assault of the rival gang had been shot down, leaving the other to stamp her hooves wildly in fear, unable to move forward in her harness. You made quick work of the leather straps with your knife, and clambered up onto the mare’s back before she could make her dash forward, holding onto the thick collar at the base of her neck for dear life.

Bullets flew past you as ducked your head down as far as you could. You grabbed the scraps of the reins that fluttered from the mare’s bit, and pulled her into a turn that had you veering off into the trees. Angry shouts echoed behind you, and you could hear the accompanying thunder of hooves as the O’Driscolls gave chase. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the wagon sitting idle on the side of the road. You prayed Mary-Beth could manage by herself without the horses and make it back to camp unscathed.

Taking your revolver from your belt, you took pot shots at your pursuers over your shoulder, digging your spurs in and urging your horse deep into the cover of the woodlands.

* * *

 

Pearson had just called everyone for dinner when Mary-Beth came hurrying into camp, looking wild-eyed and disheveled. Abigail and Susan were the first to meet her at the edge of the clearing, stopping her just as Lenny came running up from where he had been standing guard.

“ _O’Driscolls_ — some O’Driscoll boys _they_ , they caught us comin’ out of Valentine, and _Y/n_ , she got ‘em to chase her off and—,” Mary-Beth stopped to catch her breath just as more of the gang began to gather around her.

“ _Whoa_ , whoa, slow down there, Mary-Beth,” Hosea soothed, coming up to her with hands raised. He took her gently by the arm and led her to take a seat at the nearby table, asking Sean to go grab a canteen as he did so.

Arthur had been pouring himself some coffee by the main fire when the commotion caught his attention from across camp. He had been fidgety for the better part of the evening, wondering where you and Mary-Beth had gotten off to. Against his better judgement, he had decided that the two of you had just gotten sidetracked in town with sniffing out a job or something along those lines. You were nothing if not opportunists, and he trusted in your ability to steer clear of trouble, but he quickly realized his mistake when he saw Mary-Beth speaking hurriedly to Hosea and the others across the way. There was no sign of you or the wagon the two of you had taken. Arthur could feel the breath catch in his throat as he made his way over.

Having calmed down a bit, Mary-Beth clutched the canteen she had been handed as she carefully recounted what had happened on the road to Hosea and the others. “We were just coming out of Valentine, goin’ alongside the railroad tracks when they pulled up beside us from out of the trees.” She took a swig of water just as Arthur came to stand next to where Hosea sat, his hands going to his belt anxiously. “We both jumped in the back when they started firing at us, and Y/n _she_ , she got ‘em to think they had gotten one of us, and then she jumped on one of the horses, led ‘em off into the woods.” She wasn’t making eye contact with anyone now, her gaze flitting between the ground and the canteen in her hands. “She told me to get back here when I knew it was safe. The other horse got shot down…”

“So you walked,” Hosea finished for her, a mix of understanding and awe in his voice.

“I _ran_.” Mary-Beth capped the canteen. “She’s still _out there_ , Hosea.” Her voice cracked with something between fear and frustration. Her face fell when she noticed Arthur had joined the crowd, but he was too taken with his own racing thoughts to notice.

Without any prompting needed, Arthur marched briskly back to his tent, Hosea standing as he did so. “Charles, would you…” he began hurriedly, looking between him and Arthur as the younger man shouldered his rifle and checked the revolver at his hip.

Charles nodded once and patted his own sidearm, starting off towards Taima just as Arthur came back around.

“Which way did she go from the wagon, Mary-Beth?” Arthur asked over his shoulder as he pulled himself up onto his horse.

“North-east, as far as I know,” she called, standing now with the help of Abigail. “Bring her back safe.” She sounded exhausted, and Arthur nodded to her sympathetically as he tugged at the reins.

* * *

 

They had found the wagon right where Mary-Beth had said she’d left it, just a little ways south down the road from Valentine. Sure enough, a single dead horse remained tangled in his harness and the other was nowhere to be seen. Charles got down off of Taima to look over the damage to the wagon as Arthur kept vigil on the road, searching for any sign of you. He was trying his hardest to keep a level head as Charles investigated the scene, but his worries were beginning to get the better of him, and he shifted restlessly in his saddle.

“How far do you think she coulda gotten?” he asked before the silence could get to him. Charles circled around to the opposite side of the wagon.

“A couple miles, maybe. She had to have been moving fast with those men chasing her.” He ran a hand over the panelling of the wagon. “There’s… hmm…”

Arthur leaned over in his saddle to get a better look at what Charles had found.

“Is this watermelon?” Arthur’s brows drew together in bafflement as Charles wiped his hand against his trousers. They didn’t have much time to ponder it, as Charles’ attention was then drawn to the ground. “Mary-Beth said she went north-east, right?” Arthur hummed in confirmation as they both turned their heads in that direction. The dirt and grass were stamped down under several sets of hoof prints leading off into the trees.

“C’mon.” Charles mounted Taima once more and steered her onto your trail, with Arthur following close behind. They were quiet for a while as they galloped through the shadowy woodlands, both men alert to any sign of movement among the trees. Arthur’s thoughts began to wander as he followed Charles’ lead, his mind going back to that afternoon when you and Mary-Beth were just about to head out. He had helped you up into the driver’s seat of the wagon, tilting his head up when you had leaned down to kiss him goodbye.

Arthur kicked himself for not going with you. He had offered, of course, but you had assured him that you could handle yourself just fine as you patted the revolver holstered at your side. He had relented then, deciding to let you and Mary-Beth have your time together. _How well that turned out_ , he thought. _Of course_ you couldn’t expect to just go to town and back like normal people; to run errands without worrying about getting recognized or _getting_ _shot at_. This was the life you had chosen, but not the one you _deserved._

Arthur was drawn from his brooding when Charles halted Taima ahead of him, watching as the other man raised his hand in a signal to wait. A little ways ahead, right where the path made a bend, came a figure stumbling towards them. Arthur pulled his horse up slowly beside Charles before sliding from the saddle, taking his lantern from his pack and holding it before him, his free hand resting over his gun. Charles kept his eyes ahead.

Slowly, Arthur approached, trying to get a good look at whoever it was staggering through the woods so late in the evening. He nearly dropped his lantern when he realized it was you.

Losing any discretion he had been upholding, Arthur hastened up to you, taking you by the arm. You were an absolute _mess_. Your hair was disheveled and sprung wildly about your head, with what looked like a bit of mud caked into it on one side. There was a scrape on your jaw that seemed to continue down on your forearm and wrist.

“Y/n?” Arthur brought a hand up to your cheek, getting you to look him in the eye. You looked _exhausted_. You said nothing, instead gazing up at him like you were confirming for yourself that he was really there. You let yourself fall forward against his chest then, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking a deep, steadying breath. You felt his arms settle around your shoulders without pause, their familiar weight grounding you.

“C’mon, lets get on back home,” he said after a moment’s pause, deciding that an explanation could wait. He kept an arm around your shoulders as he led you towards the horses.

“You alright, Y/n?” Charles asked as Arthur helped you up onto his horse.

“I will be once I get a hot meal and a good night’s sleep,” you sighed. “I’m guessin’ I missed supper, huh?”

“Ahh, I’m sure they saved somethin’ for you. Mary-Beth said you played quite the hero this evenin’,” Arthur grunted as he pulled himself up into the saddle, letting you settle in behind him, your arms winding around his torso.

“I don’t _feel_ like much of a hero. Probably don’t look much like one either.”

“All things considered, you look just _fine_ , darlin’.” Arthur patted your hand, making you smile tiredly.

The three of you started back down the trail as you explained what had happened. “Those O’Driscolls chased me for a good half-hour, at least. I was pretty far ahead of them when one of ‘em got lucky. Shot that horse out from under me.” You rubbed at the scrapes along your arm wearily. “I got down into the bushes and just waited. They gave up eventually. Thats when I started back this way.” You rested your forehead against Arthur’s back, closing your eyes.

“You did good, Y/n,” Charles lauded, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“Thanks for comin’ for me, you two,” you mumbled. “I’d be out here all night if it wasn’t for you.” You felt it in Arthur’s chest as he hummed, his hand squeezing yours as he did so.

* * *

 

After getting cleaned up and fed a warm bowl of Pearson’s stew, you laid comfortably on your cot, waiting as Arthur pulled off his boots and tucked them under the bedside table.

“Yer sure yer okay?” he asked as he put out the lantern and crawled into bed next to you. You nodded sleepily and held out your arms, beckoning him to you. He pulled you to his chest, letting you bury your nose into his shirt. He sighed. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in all that. It ain’t right.”

“It’s the life we chose, Arthur.” Your voice is muffled and tired, and your hands flatten against his back.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want something better.”

You sigh against his chest, tilting your head up to look at him. “Someday.”

He gives you a half smile, kissing your forehead. “ _Someday_.”

“And until then, I got you. That’s all I need.”

He hums and lets you tuck your head back under his chin, holding you tighter as you do so.

“Likewise, darlin’.”


	6. A Place for The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So for this request, I wanted to try the bullet fic format instead of my normal story format. I might be writing more of my casual requests like this from now on, but I'm still gonna continue with my full-length fics as well, so don't worry!
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance because I feel like this format looks better on Tumblr (where I post all my stuff first), and that it doesn't translate as well to ao3 :/

  * It was the height of summer when an unshakable rattle settled in your chest. It started small, whatever it was.
  * You had assured Arthur that it was just your body getting used to the dryer weather, plain and simple, but you had never been the best liar. The two of you had been living in Hennigan’s Stead for the better part of two years now.
  * Arthur was quick to notice when the coughing started. He noticed when you would roll out of your shared bed in the night to go outside. He could hear the coughs you were trying to muffle in the shawl draped around your shoulders. 
  * The first couple of nights, he decided to let you have the time to yourself, waiting patiently for you to return and asking if you were alright when you padded back inside. You would curl up against him and say you were fine, that you just needed some air.
  * He didn’t believe you for a second.
  * On the fourth night, Arthur joined you on the porch, placing his old coat around your shoulders as he came up behind you. He didn’t miss the way you tensed when you heard him coming out of the house, but he refrained from mentioning it.
  * Instead, he took a seat on the wooden steps, holding up a hand to help you settle down next to him.
  * “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, Y/n,” he asked quietly as you adjusted his coat around your shoulders. You could hear the concern in his voice despite his best efforts to keep it even.
  * “Nothin’s _goin’ on_ , Arthur. Just a little sick is all, it’ll pass.”
  * He made a sound deep in his throat and scooted a bit closer, wringing his hands before him. “You’ve just been coughin’ a lot. You’ve been tired, but you keep on like it’s nothin’. You sure you don’t wanna go see a doctor in town?” He looked to you imploringly.
  * “It ain’t that bad, Arthur.” You lean into him so that your shoulders press together. “I don’t need a doctor, honey.”
  * You hope that it’s enough for him, but he only looks more distressed as his gaze falls to his boots, his hands clasping together tightly.
  * “But, if it would make you feel better,” you place a hand on his arm, “I’ll take it easy on the chores for a few days. See if that helps.”
  * His posture relaxes a little, and he places a hand over yours. “Alright. _Alright,_ but if you start feelin’ any worse, you tell me, you hear? Then we’re goin’ to town.”
  * “Deal.”
  * The next couple of days after your talk, you let Arthur fuss over you, though it was more for his own sake than for yours.
  * He worked double time to get the chores done and get food made, gently shepherding you back to bed any time you tried to help.
  * Your cough persisted, but after three days of being cooped up in the house, you managed to assure Arthur that you were feeling a bit better. He wasn’t entirely convinced, especially upon hearing a round of your hacking from the kitchen, but he knew not even he could keep you down for very long.
  * The two of you compromised on chores, with Arthur continuing with the heavier work, as well as the cooking, while you would take on the lighter jobs like feeding the chickens and brushing your horses. When you weren’t doing that, you were content to just follow Arthur as he worked, giving him a hand where he needed it.
  * Arthur was beginning to believe you were really recovering. That is, until he found you sitting propped against the chicken coop with the feed bag at your feet.
  * The dazed look in your eyes and the blood glossing your lips told him everything he needed to know.
  * Next thing you knew, you had been bundled up into the back of the wagon.
  * In Blackwater, it didn’t take long for the doctor to come up with his diagnosis. You sat through his tests, trying to keep a level head. When he placed the stethoscope against your chest, you became painfully aware of the hitched rattling that still plagued your every breath.
  * The doctor sat back, giving you a sickeningly sympathetic look. Tuberculosis.
  * You sat there, struck silent. Arthur stood beside you, his face blanching as he clutched your hand.
  * It was you who had to quietly thank the doctor for his time, giving Arthur’s hand a pat to signal it was time to leave.
  * The ride home was devoid of conversation. You sat curled on the bench in the back of the wagon, just behind Arthur’s place in the driver’s seat. You felt an overwhelming sense of devastation pressing down on you as you drove on in silence. It felt as though your chest were about to give out right then and there.
  * Just as the tears began to gather in your eyes, you reached up between the backing panels of Arthur’s seat and tugged at his sleeve.
  * He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Instead, he adjusted the reins for one hand, and took hold of yours with the other. You stayed like that the rest of the way home.
  * The following weeks were painful ones, to say the least. The two of you spent your evenings talking about everything; about what you wanted to do, about how you wanted to spend your time.
  * At first, Arthur just seemed angry. Angry in that quiet, dangerous sort of way. It was something that you hadn’t seen since your days in the gang.
  * But after you started talking to him, talking about how you wanted to carry on with your life on your homestead like normal, his stony facade began to crumble, revealing the softer man underneath once more.
  * The two of you sat on the edge of your bed one night, the oil lamp on the bedside table casting you in a soft orange glow.
  * You suppressed a cough as Arthur took your hands between his own. “You sure you don’t wanna get outta here?” he whispered, dragging his thumb over the back of your hand.
  * You gave him a sad smile, scooting a bit closer and meeting his eyes. He couldn’t miss how gaunt your face was getting, nor could he ignore the frailness in your posture as your shoulders fell forward. It broke your heart to see him so distraught.
  * “This is where I belong, Arthur. We’ve been runnin’ our whole lives, and I think I’ve had about all I can take.” He gave you a tight-lipped smile, and you could see it in his eyes that he _knew_ there was no escaping what was to come.
  * Relenting, he pulled you to him then, letting your head rest against his shoulder and pressing his lips to the top of your head.
  * “I’m with you, then,” he muttered, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. “Always.”
  * That broke you. It was as though the flood gates had been opened by his words, and before you knew it, you were muffling your sobs in his work shirt, your fists balling into the faded fabric.
  * You felt anguish and relief and everything in between as Arthur held you against him. For days you had been agonizing over what your ailment meant.
  * Part of you had wanted to tell Arthur to leave, to go find something or someone else, and to let you die knowing he could find happiness elsewhere.
  * But the other part of you knew you wouldn’t last half as long without him.
  * “ _I don’t wanna_ _die_ , _”_ your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You felt Arthur’s arms tighten around you.
  * He didn’t say anything; there was nothing he _could_ say. Instead, he let you cry for as long as you needed, his head resting atop yours as he tried to hold back his own tears.
  * You cried yourself to sleep that night, but Arthur remained wide awake, like he was keeping vigil as he held you, rubbing absent-minded circles into your back as he awaited the sunrise.



* * *

 

  * Arthur held your hand in the end. Held it all through the night as you wheezed and sputtered and coughed.
  * It was near impossible for you to talk, so he talked for you. He told you stories about when he was young, about the good times he had had with Hosea and Dutch.
  * He talked a lot about Hosea, actually, which was something he hadn’t done in a long time, certainly not since you had moved out west.  
  * Arthur wasn’t a praying man, but he found some cold comfort in knowing that if there was some sort of life after death, that Hosea would be there on the other side. You wouldn’t be alone.
  * It was a pretty thought, and Arthur almost hated himself for thinking it, but it was _something_.
  * John and Abigail had come to visit towards the end. Charles and Sadie too. You hated for them to see you in the state you were in.
  * But they stayed.
  * When your labored breathing began to slow, John and Abigail were the first to leave, followed by Sadie. Charles patted Arthur’s shoulder before stepping outside.
  * Arthur had your hand pressed to his lips, the ring you wore cold against his skin. He whispered how much he loved you, how he would never stop loving you. He whispered that everything was okay as the tears fell unchecked down his cheeks.
  * Charles stayed with Arthur. He helped dig the grave under the old oak tree that overlooked the property. He sat quietly on the porch when Arthur insisted that he bury you himself.
  * The others visited Arthur often, not wanting to leave him alone as he mourned. They usually found him sitting under the oak tree.
  * Over time, he managed to pick himself back up and get on with taking care of your homestead. It was Sadie who convinced him that it was what you would have wanted him to do.
  * He made the trek up the little hill most afternoons to sit under the oak tree and write in his journal. It slowly became less of a mourning practice, and more of a habit.
  * To say he liked it because it was where you were wouldn’t be quite right. No, to him, you were all around. You were in the oak tree watching over him. You were in the cabin that you built together. You were in the land that you and he both called your home.
  * You were everywhere, you were everything.




End file.
